TDI: 2 What's this?
Should I even go there?
It’s the beginning of 2019 and Venezuela is in a huge mess. Things have been very bad for a while now… In 2017, hyperinflation, unemployment, and crime were extremely high. Now, things got actually a lot worse! Kidnapping in Caracas became a very common thing. Robberies and violent protests are part of everyday life. Consequently, four million refugees have escaped Venezuela to the neighboring countries.
Other than the money and the crime problem, there was a supply of goods problem as well. The stores all over the country were running short of necessities like bread, flour, water, toilet paper, and medicine. So even if people do have money to buy something, they still need to hustle to get it. Big lines in front of grocery stores one hour before opening also became part of everyday life.
Since I was planning on cruising South America that year, I’ve spent months nervously doing my research just on Venezuela. The governmental advisories were very clear: “Do Not Travel!” was a title on their websites, followed by extensive content of scary information. Some websites stated Venezuela is the most dangerous country in the world. Since I have been to many dangerous countries and had a great time there, I didn’t feel like giving up. Not yet. I continued with my research instead. I tried to find out if any traveler has been there lately. Very few travelers visited the country in 2017 and 2018, and they wrote it was very tricky. I couldn’t find anybody that’s been there this year…
Then I’ve been researching different ways to get in… Flight to Caracas: No way! Gotta stay away from that city. Boat from Trinidad & Tobago: Currently no service. Man, this is complicated… How about, getting by bus from Colombia? The news says the border is very chaotic, with thousands of people crossing. Border with Brazil: Currently closed. Damn! Donno if I should even go there… If yes, dunno how to get in! I have decided to make my decision once I get to South America. It should be easier to get more info from the region. I had a booked flight to Ecuador. Then I was planning to travel by road to Colombia, then proceed to Venezuela?
How do I get in?
Even Ecuador – Colombia border was super chaotic, with thousands of Venezuelan refugees hanging out, waiting for their opportunity to cross. Since there were three million of them in Colombia, I was hoping to meet some of them and ask if I can pass the Colombia – Venezuela border, and come back alive. Meanwhile, I read in the news about the most recent robbery reported on Bogota – Caracas highway, near the border. Oh man, it’s really challenging to stay optimistic.
In Colombia, it was very easy to find Venezuelans. They were in every city, big and small, hustling on the streets, selling stuff, trying to make a living. So, I met a few of them on my second day in Colombia, in the small cute city of Ipiales. Some dudes in their early twenties. One of them was selling ice cream on the street, the second one bracelets and the third one was polishing shoes. Surprisingly, they told me If I go, I’ll have plenty of fun. They just advised me to keep an eye on my wallet, not to walk around at night, and to supply myself with condoms. The bottom line is they were giving me advice for visiting an ordinary Latin American country, not the most dangerous country in the world. Therefore, I decided to gather information from some other refugees.
You can find more photos from Colombia by clicking here.
A few days later, somewhere in Medellin, I was getting an empanada from a smiley lady, at her street stand. I saw next to the empanada basket a small Venezuelan flag sticker. So I started chatting with her and expressed my desire to get there from Colombia by bus.
“It is very difficult now. I would not go”, she told me with a sincere look in her eyes. She felt like a very warm and honest person. The empanada was amazing, by the way! I liked the fact that she told me “I would not go”, which is usually a lot stronger statement than “Don’t go!”, which reminds me of people who act like they know everything.
So I decided not to go. At least not right now and not from Colombia. I had 5 more months in South America, so I’ll monitor the news, and see what happens. That was my plan.
As I continued traveling to various Latin American countries, whenever I would Google Venezuela, I would see nothing but the same terrifying news. Hyperinflation, crimes, and the number of refugees escaping kept increasing. Things were terrible, and they were getting even worse every day! Where is the bottom of this misery? However, it was supposed to be the most beautiful country in South America, with the most fun and welcoming people. I really felt sorry for them.
Fast forward three months and the border with Brazil got reopened. My plan was to be in Brazil two months from now. The border was on the very north… Big distance… I was supposed to meet there my traveling friend, Najib. When I asked him what part of Brazil he was interested in, he surprisingly said the Roraima state, which was all the way north, next to Venezuela. He wanted to hike Mont Roraima. Never heard of it, but did not wanna argue with his proposal. That would give me another opportunity to cross the border. Najib was also curious about Venezuela. If we don’t make it, not a biggy. The pictures of Mont Roraima online looked spectacular! It was on the border of Brazil, Guyana, and Venezuela.
Two months later, we met in Brasilia. That’s where we were getting visas for Guyana. Five days later, we got to Boa Vista, the capital of the Roraima state. The Guyanan border was one hour east and the Venezuelan two hours north.
”Well Najib, you wanted to go to Mont Roraima. I wanted to get to Venezuela. It seems like our plans certainly meet!”, I told him.
“True. Let me check the visa requirements”. He’s Lebanese. So his passport is not as useful as mine.
We went to an agency to inquire about visiting Mont Roraima. We weren’t interested in getting a tour package, just to gather some information. You would expect people that work in tourist agencies to speak English. Well, not really. On the other hand, it was a good opportunity for me to work on my Portuguese. So currently, they were offering tours to Mount Roraima in Venezuela… How about that!. Apparently, that is the only way to get there. No access from Brasilian or Guyanan side.
The good news was, there was a consulate in Boa Vista, where he was easily able to get a visa within 24 hours. When applying, nobody asked him why he wanted to go there or warned him about the extremely dangerous situation. That was a very good sign. I was assuming that part of the country was in decent shape. Which makes sense. Whenever a country is in a big mess (war, protests, weather disasters), that doesn’t necessarily mean every single corner of the country is equally suffering. The south of Venezuela did not seem very populated, so maybe it won’t be that dangerous for us. Well, It’s happening. We were optimistic. Also excited.
You can find more photos from Brazil in my Rio de Janeiro post.
Welcome to Venezuela!
There was obviously no direct transport for our route. In Boa Vista we took a bus to the border. Then, we crossed it without any difficulties. It looked chaotic, obviously, with hundreds of refugees camping there with their belongings, waiting for the green light to enter Brazil.
Najib and I were extremely sharp and alert. We wanted to make sure we don’t get in trouble, cause we’ve just entered the most dangerous country in the world! On the other side of the border, we took a local ride to Santa Elena, the closest town up the road, and also the largest in this part of the country.
First impression: everything seemed normal. Just like another Latin American country. I was looking at the grocery stores through the car window. They seemed normally supplied. Didn’t notice any empty shelves, or lines of people in front. Good… A more normal situation means more chance to survive!
Arrived in Santa Elena. Everything seemed normal as well. Little lower standard than on the Brazilian side. So things appeared a bit rougher, but definitely no signs of chaos. The town looked fun actually. We didn’t stick around. Immediately got another ride to the village more north, from where we would have access to Mount. Roraima. Our plan was to camp there for two nights, and then come back and spend the third night here, in Santa Elena. We had to. Camping in remote nature had nothing to do with experiencing the vibe of this country. Ultimately that’s what we came for.
Once we reached our village, we got assigned a local guide. We were told tourists are not allowed to hike to Mount Roraima without one. We were OK with it. The deal was affordable. Overall, we spent about 100 times less, than if we paid the tour package back in Boa Vista. Plus commuting by ourselves was more adventurous. It’s the secret math of traveling: cheaper = more fun.
The hike was remarkable… Totally worth getting here! But we were more excited about spending our third day in Santa Elena, cause it seemed like real Venezuela. This here was just another natural wonderland. Our guide did not know much about what was going on in the country. The only thing he knew was, because of corruption, tourism has been slow lately. But since the village lives from agriculture, they weren’t too much affected. After several months of following the news, I felt like I know a lot more about the crisis in Venezuela, than anybody in this village.
The villagers were making interesting local booze: Kachori. It was made from fermented yucca and sweet potatoes. It looked pink and fizzy. Tasted quite refreshing with mild alcohol content. We couldn’t memorize the name, so we just called it ‘the pink drink’.
For monetary transactions, everybody was using Brazilian reales. It seemed to be the official currency in this part of Venezuela.
After we finished camping, we had a hard time getting the bus back to Santa Elena. Apparently, gas was the issue. There wasn’t any. The gas is almost free if it’s available at the stations. Outside of Caracas, it’s usually not. So we ended up getting a ride hitchhiking. We offered some money, of course.
“I need to make a quick stop to fill the gas”, our driver said as he was pulling over on the side of the road. But there’s no gas station here… Maybe we’re about to get kidnapped! He got out of the car, opened a trunk, and pulled out a plastic container. Then he opened a gas door in order to fill it.
“There’s no gas at the stations”, he told us, while filling. Huh, I guess we’re not getting kidnapped… “My brother got me a few containers from Caracas”, he explained.
In Western countries, it is illegal to carry a container of gas in a car. But here, that was the only way, I guess.
The Internet is full of beautiful areal footage of Mt. Roraima. Here is the Youtube video I liked.
We don’t want your money!
Once we arrived in Santa Elena, we got nervous again, like we just entered Venezuela for the first time.
“We should try to be as discreet as possible. The town is not that big.” I told Najib.
“Yeah bro, I am sure we are the only foreigners in this town.”
We did see some other tourists up in the village, but they were all accompanied by guides and big white Land Rover tour vehicles. They were definitely not accommodated anywhere near these cheap guesthouses in Santa Elena.
“This one”, I told our driver to stop by the guesthouse I’d spotted. It was in the middle of the block. Less exposure than on the crossroad. We thanked him and jumped out of the car straight into the guesthouse. We desperately wanted to minimize the time spent on the street with our backpacks on. At the front desk, we formally asked about the price and if we could see the room before we decide. Although, we made our decision while we were still in the car. There was no way we would walk back out on the street with our backpacks on, and look for a better deal. We got escorted to the room by a 9-year-old boy. Great! There’s normally less crime and kidnapping in the vicinity of children.
Then, we went out for a walk. Since both of us had dark hair, and no backpacks, we were hoping we won’t get attention from the locals. We were also dressed discretely, as always. We left our cell phones and passports in the guesthouse.
The prices were interesting. The water bottle was two and a half times more expensive than on the Brazilian side. Local coffee was more expensive than a giant empanada. It was all about the accessibility, we were assuming. Food grown locally was cheap. Everything that’s brought from Caracas or Brazil was not.
“Let’s try to get more of that booze we had in the village yesterday. Do you remember the name of it?” I asked Najib
“I don’t, but I would definitely like some more of that. Let’s get something to eat first.”
“Sounds good.” We were positive we could find it here. The question was if we had enough time. It was 4 pm and we were planning to go back to Brazil the next morning.
“Wanna try out these Shawarmas?” I pointed at the small shop we were passing by.
“Sure.” I was wondering who’s making Shawarmas in the middle of Latin America.
That’s where we got the information on where to find the pink booze in this town. The guy in the Shawarma shop was from Syria. So he spoke Arabic, just like Najib. Good, I thought while the two of them were having a friendly conversation in their language. It’s good to have an ally in this town.
What an irony. The guy has escaped from Syria in order to save his life from the devastating war. Ironically, he ended up in a country that became the most dangerous in the world. Tough luck. So he directed us up the road, to the end of town in the neighborhood where indigenous people lived. By ‘indigenous’ he didn’t really mean tribal people that dress old school and speak their own language. That was just the name they used for the people that have been living in Roraima villages for generations and never mixed with Europeans or with anybody else. So, according to our standards, they weren’t quite indigenous… but their booze was!
On our way to their neighborhood, we were enjoying the views of the hills. I started to feel more relaxed. We liked the town. Although we randomly ended up here, cause it was the only town between Mount Roraima and the border, it seemed like a very cool place to visit.
Once we got to the neighborhood, we asked the first person on the street if anybody sells the pink booze. He pointed at the house 10 meters distance. Easy. Inside, there were three women sawing. They welcomed us with big smiles. And their smiles got even bigger when they found out we loved their traditional beverage and we were looking all over town to get some more of it.
“Bring kachori for them to try”, the woman told her daughter.
”We’d like to buy some”, I clarified. Her face turned sad, almost disappointing.
“But we are not selling it. You are welcome to have some.” Now, we got disappointed, but accepted her offer, of course.
What a shock! The country is struggling big time, and these women don’t wanna take this opportunity to make some money. Unbelievable! So the daughter came back with two glasses of pink beverage. It was as delicious as the one in the village. So we were enjoying the drinks and chatting with the ladies, while they were sawing. They were a very pleasant company. The room was filled with their sawing products, all of them price tagged. It was like a shop. They were making traditional clothes and souvenirs.
We were checking out their crafts around the spacious room. Surprisingly, they didn’t try to sell us anything. I understand they didn’t wanna sell us kachori, cause they normally don’t sell it. But they do sell these sawing products. Maybe they thought we got no money… I guess we did a good job dressing low-key. Normally whenever I discover a hole in any of my shirts or pants, I would keep it for my travels, so I can look as broke as possible.
When our glasses got almost empty, one of the ladies called her daughter again, to bring us refills. Awesome! During our conversation, they surprisingly never mentioned anything about the crisis in the country. They seemed to be relaxed and generally happy people. We were really surprised. When we were almost done with the second round, the lady called something out, and her daughter came back with a large plastic bottle of kachori about two-thirds full. She handed it to me.
“Oh, so we can buy some, great!” I told the lady. She turned sad again.
“No, we don’t want your money! This is a present.”
Well, we didn’t wanna argue with her. What did we do to deserve all this generosity?
Back in town, we sat on the bench in the main plaza and continued drinking kachori. The atmosphere around us was very vibrant. It was Saturday evening. There was loud music. People dancing next to us, and more people hanging out and having fun on the other side of the plaza… it just seemed fun everywhere! Where’s devastating Venezuela? If we travel to Europe, it would take us weeks to find a random place where people have as much fun as these guys here! We couldn’t imagine it would be like this!
It was 8:30 when we decided to call it a day and go back to our guesthouse. We felt safe outside, but still… better safe than sorry. Kidnapping was an extremely common activity in the country lately.
The locals weren’t hanging out and drinking only at the plaza. There was even more action on the street, right in front of our guesthouse! People were playing loud music from their cars while drinking and dancing next to them. There was a liquor store open right next to our guesthouse. That explains the location of this party.
The ultimate surprise waited for us at the front desk. We were greeted by the same 9-year-old. He was surrounded by attractively dressed girls. There were even more of them in the hall upstairs. Apparently, we got accommodation in the whore house. That wasn’t a big surprise… Rather the fact that a 9-year-old kid was moving up and down the halls full of prostitutes and managing the business. His father was there as well, sitting in the corner of the front desk and watching TV. Apparently, his son got everything under control by himself… Even on this busy Saturday night! Najib and I were convinced that a scene like this one we just saw, can not be seen even in the Hollywood movies.
Want some more stories from South American countries? I would recommend checking out my Peru post.